


And the Days Dwindle Down to a Precious Few September, November, And These Few Precious Days, I’ll Spend With You

by shouldbeover



Series: The Blue Moon Set [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, M/M, OMC - Freeform, Period-Typical Homophobia, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Smut, Young Love, historical homosexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-26 04:43:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12051567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shouldbeover/pseuds/shouldbeover
Summary: Steve considers taking his and Bucky's physical relationship to another level.  He goes to an old acquaintance that he thinks might have some advice.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Despite the angst of the title, this is not a Steve/Bucky angst-centric story. The angst is primarily an OMC's grief, period typical homophobia, and foreshadowing because of what we know about Steve and Bucky's future.
> 
> September Song, Knickerbocker Holiday - Maxwell Anderson, Walter Huston, 1938

                Steve nervously rubbed his shoes on the back of his trousers to polish them, and knocked on the door.  For all he knew Mr. Vinzetti had moved and he’d have to apologize to whatever stranger answered, but to his relief, the man he was expecting to see opened the door.  He looked very much the same as he had the last time Steve had seen him, his hair an artificial black, dressed in a simple white shirt and black trousers with a soft, grey cardigan.  He had perhaps become a little more gaunt, developed a few more lines around his mouth and eyes, but otherwise exactly as Steve remembered him.

                “Steve?” he asked, “Steven Rogers?  Hello!  Hello!  Do come in, come in.  What a delight it is to see you.  I haven’t seen you in, oh it must be five or six years.  My how you have grown.”

                Steve knew that he had perhaps gained, at most, an inch and height, and had certainly not filled out since they had last met when Steve was 15, the long hoped for growth spurt never arriving, but he smiled politely at the kindness, and stepped inside Mr. Vinzetti’s dimly lit apartment.  As ever, it smelt faintly of vanilla and dust, the heavy Victorian furniture crowded into the small space, curtains closed so that the room felt vaguely cave like with only a few lamps to light it up.

                “Dear boy, do, do have a seat.  Would you like some Limoncello?”

                “Oh, thank you, but I don’t want to be any trouble.”

                “No trouble at all.  I was about to have some.  I usually do in the late afternoon.  A tiny vice I allow myself.” Mr. Vinzetti smiled and walked into the kitchen.

                Six years before Mr. Vinzetti had broken his leg and had hired Steve’s mother to nurse him.  She had been happy for the extra money and even after Mr. Vinzetti’s leg had improved she would continue to drop in to help him with grocery shopping and other small tasks.  Of course she brought Steve along with her, but she had never let Steve come on his own.  When Steve asked her why she had only given vague and unconvincing answers: Mr. Vinzetti had never had children, he might be nervous around Steve alone, he, Steve, shouldn’t be carrying heavy groceries, what if Mr. Vinzetti had fallen again and Steve was unable to help.  Steve had resented the implication that he was too weak or that he was such a handful that he would overwhelm Mr. Vinzetti who was always very nice to him, even giving him watered down Limoncello, and fizzy seltzer with different flavors.  Steve had loved coming and was sorry he couldn’t spend more time with the old man.  Mr. Vinzetti had an enormous collection of art books and he would let Steve look through them.  It had introduced Steve to the wonder of the Italian Renaissance artists and had helped him improve his grasp of anatomy.  But when he pushed for an  answer, his mother had said that he wouldn’t understand.  Now, loving Bucky, he had a feeling that he knew exactly why, and that is why he had come.  He hoped he wasn’t mistaken and wondered how he could broach the topic without being too direct.  If he was wrong then he was risking everything, the very least of which was insulting a man he liked and respected.

                Mr. Vinzetti returned carrying a tray with a bottle and two glasses.  To buy time, Steve took a long drink.  It was refreshingly cool in the stuffy room, chilled from the ice box, stinging and sour, and if it gave him some Dutch courage, so much the better.

                “I was so sorry to hear about your mother.  She was a dear, dear soul.  So kind and gracious.  A lovely woman.  My deepest condolences.  And I was distraught that I could not come to her funeral mass.  I was out of the country at the time.  But I was very remiss in not sending a card.”

                Steve put his glass back down on the tray, “Thank you.  She was very fond of you.”

                “I was fond of her as well, and of you.  I regretted that you were not able to come around more.”  Mr. Vinzetti sipped from his own glass and gazed at Steve with his deep black eyes.

                “So good to see you.  Are you still drawing?  You have true talent.  I would be so heartbroken if the present conditions of the country prevented you from pursuing your study.  I have some new art books that I brought back from home if you would like to see them.  You are always free to come by and look at my books, if you would like.”

                Steve looked around the room in the dim light, at the overladen book shelves and the sepia-toned pictures of Mr. Vinzetti’s family.  “Thank you.  That would be very nice.  I have…I always enjoyed my time here.  If you needed I could start running errands for you again, like my mother did.”  This last came to him in a burst of inspiration as an excuse, but still sincere.

                “You are very kind, but alas I could not pay you very much.  These times have been so hard and with the troubles in Italy…I have had to use some of my finances to help family at home.”

                Steve flushed, “Oh, no, that’s not why, I mean, I would be happy to—“

                Mr. Vinzetti smiled at him kindly, “Perhaps we could establish a sort of barter.  You could borrow some of my books, even have some—I have too many, and no one to leave them to—if you would like.  You know they are my treasure.  I do not lend them to many, but if I can encourage your art I would be very happy.”

                An awkward silence fell.  Steve was just deciding that perhaps he should pretend that he had come by to offer help and make his escape, when Mr. Vinzetti rose and said, “Here let me show you my newest additions.”

                He spread the book open on the coffee table and sat next to Steve on the settee.

                “This is Carravaggio.  Look at that use of light to define the form.  Exquisite.  It prefigures Rembrandt in many ways, although Rembrandt had far fewer religious overtones.  Carravaggio died three years before Rembrandt was born.  If it had been the same year, one might believe in reincarnation, as with Galileo and Newton.  Newton was born in the same year as Galileo died, you know.”

                Steve turned the pages with careful reverence.  He stopped on a picture of young boy.  It reminded him of Bucky, if Bucky was a little chubbier, the slight dip in the chin, the plush lips, the thick dark hair.  The caption identified it as _Boy with a Basket of Fruit_. 

                “Ah,” said Mr. Vinzetti, “One of his most famous works, and to my mind one of the most beautiful paintings in the world.  Look at the definition of the muscles in the neck and shoulders contrasted with the softness of his features, the sensual ripeness of the fruit.”

                “Yes,” replied Steve.  “It’s beautiful.  The boy, he’s…he reminds me of a friend of mine.  My friend, he’s very handsome.  All the girls love him.”

                Mr. Vinzetti smiled and took another sip of his drink.  “He sounds very blessed, your friend.  To have the girls clamoring after him.  And to have such a friend as you.  I know that you would choose your friends wisely.”   The older man paused for moment, then rose and went to the desk in the corner.  He came back with a photograph and set it on top of the open book.  “This was one of my dearest friends.”

                The photo was of two young men on a beach in old-fashioned one piece bathing suits.  Mr. Vinzetti was easily recognizable, a little less thin, with the remnants of baby fat still lingering in his face.  His friend was huge and easily dwarfed him; heavily muscled, he was flexing his arms in a strong man pose.  Mr. Vinzetti was laughing.

                “Francesco loved to show off for the ladies.  Does your friend do this also?”

                “Ye-es,” Steve replied.  “Not so much now, but when he was younger.”

                Mr. Vinzetti paused and ran his finger carefully over the photo.  “Is he a very special kind of friend to you, Steven?”

                Steve looked down into his lap.  “Yes.”

                “And he, does he feel the same.”

                “Yes, oh, yes,” Steve whispered.

                “That is good, no?  To have a special friend, especially one who returns your feeling.  You are both very lucky.  As I was lucky.  Many are not so fortunate.”

                Steve murmured, “I know.  We know.”

                “Is this why you came today?  To ask if I knew about special friends?”

                “No, I mean yes, I mean I didn’t, I don’t want to insult you, but I thought, maybe, but I…”

                “It is alright.  I understand.  I am not insulted.  I am not ashamed of who I am, and you should not be ashamed either.  In a perfect world perhaps…”

                Steve felt close to tears.  “Thank you.  Your friend…what became of…”

                Mr. Vinzetti rose abruptly taking the photo with him.  “He died.”

                “Oh, I am so sorry!”

                “No, no, it was a long time ago.”

                “Do you mind my asking…?”

                “His family…his family felt it would be good for him to be a soldier, and in Italy family wishes are…very hard to refuse.”

                “I’m sorry,” Steve repeated.

                “Oh, but you must not be sorry.  You are young and you must be happy.  Happy with your friend.  I did not mean to sadden you.  I thought it might help you, to know…”

                Steve smiled up at him, “Yes, it does.”  Then he blushed and looked back down.  He took another gulp of his drink, wincing at its sour taste.  “I…if you…I was wondering…because…” 

                Mr. Vinzetti resumed his seat in the armchair opposite Steve.  “You may ask me anything, my dearest boy.  Do not be embarrassed.  I was very fortunate in…in my special friends.  Both Francesco and my first.  My first friend was a little older and taught me many things that I had never had anyone to ask.”

                Steve took a deep breath, “My friend and I…we…there are things, things we enjoy, together, but lately, I’ve been thinking that…well, Bu— my friend, as I said, he used to impress the girls and had experience…and I’m afraid that—“

                Mr. Vinzetti interrupted with a frown, “Your friend, he does not pressure you for this, does he?  He does not make you feel that you must do things for him or he will find it elsewhere?”

                “Oh, no!  No, no, no!  He’s never said anything at all.  He seems very happy, we’re both very happy.  And if we could—“

                “That is good.  Very good.  I have known many men such as ourselves who let themselves be used by unkind and selfish men because they are so very lonely that they pretend that the pleasure means love.  Pleasure is a form of love, but when it is one-sided, if the other man is ashamed or hatefully cruel—“

                Steve smiled softly, more to himself that to Mr. Vinzetti, “No, Bucky—“ he hadn’t meant to say Bucky’s name aloud but he went bravely on.  “Bucky adores me as much as I adore him.  He doesn’t know that I was coming here to ask.  About this.  He probably wouldn’t have wanted me to come because, you know, because of the risk.  If I was wrong.

                “No, I know that there’s, more, that men do.  You hear things at the docks and, I mean, I thought it couldn’t be terrible if those men, like it.”

                Mr. Vinzetti chuckled.  “Yes, it can be very pleasurable.  Very pleasurable indeed.

                “Let me show you something.” He went to a cabinet, pulled out a little key that he had on a chain around his neck, and, removing the necklace, unlocked the cabinet.  “What I am going to show you is very…I am giving you a great deal of power over me.  If anyone knew that I owned these…  How old are you now?”

                “Nineteen, almost twenty.”

                He smiled, “Well, at least they cannot say that I am corrupting a child.”

                He took a couple of books from the cabinet and brought them over to the coffee table.  He picked up the book on Carravaggio and set the others down in front of Steve, then returned to his seat.  They were clearly very old, bound in leather with gilt lettering. 

                Steve opened the first book and when he had turned a few pages to the first with pictures he blushed from the roots of his hair down to his feet.  His stomach turned flip-flops and he felt light-headed.  “Oh,” was all he could manage.

                The book was full of very old illustrations, illustrations of men doing things together.  Having sex together.  Positions Steve couldn’t have imagined in his wildest dreams.  He couldn’t be sure, but they looked as if they were painted on ancient vases and other objects, perhaps Greek.

                “Oh, yes,” Mr. Vinzetti said, interrupting Steve’s wild thoughts, “It has always been around, although the Greeks and Romans preferred pederasty, of which I do not approve.  It is too much as I said, an older man satisfying his appetites with one who cannot or feels he cannot refuse.  But it is widely believed that there were many loving relationships between equals, and I believe it must be so, just as it is today.  I am embarrassing you.  I will leave you with the books and go and read in my room.  Please take as much time as you like, and you can always come back, even with your friend if you think he would like them.  I can be…out at the time if that would make it easier for you.”

                Steve swallowed, “But how, I mean, doesn’t it hurt?  My friend is not, well, he’s…healthy,” Steve finished.

                “You must take your time and because it is not as…ready as a woman, oil or other slick liquids must be used.  But perhaps you will find that your friend prefers to be the passive one.”

                “WHAT?” Steve yelped.  That had never occurred to him in his wildest dreams, but now that it was in his mind, he felt a growing heat between his legs.  “But I’m the smaller—“

                “Pfft,” said Mr. Vinzetti.  “Are you a woman?  Is your friend a woman?  No?  Then why should either of you believe that you must play the woman.  It is not the same.  We are not the same.  Would it shock you to know that my friend, my Francesco, preferred to be the passive one?  For all his size and strength?  And the…penetrated need not be passive, truly.  Francesco could be—“ he chuckled, “quite demanding.  But, as I said I will leave you alone with your studies.”  He slipped down the hall to his room.

                Steve left an hour later after thanking Mr. Vinzetti profusely for everything and repeating his offer to run errands and help out, his mind full of possibilities that made him blush, and many thoughts that threatened to embarrass him physically on the way home.

                Mr. Vinzetti embraced him at the door, “Ah, to be young and in love.  Cling to one another as long as you can, savor each precious moment, because the world will do everything in its power to tear you apart.”

 

 

                When he got home Bucky was already there, making dinner.  With all the images in his mind, Steve blushed when  he saw Bucky’s broad shoulders and muscled body.

                “Stevie?”  You okay, you look like you’ve been running a marathon?  You’re not getting sick, are you?”

                Steve almost giggled, marathons were invented by the Greeks after all, but he managed to smother it down.  He wanted to say he'd never felt healthier in his life.  Instead he kissed Bucky passionately, turned off the heat on the stove and dragged his lover, his special friend, to the bedroom.

                He said nothing of what he had been doing and what he had seen.  Before he approached Bucky about the world of possibilities open to them he wanted to conduct a few experiments to find out if it really was a pleasurable as Mr. Vinzetti had said.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve surprises Bucky with his new-found sexual knowledge, to their mutual delight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PWP with feeling. 
> 
> (Even after all this time I still feel awkward writing pure smut--sometimes I can't even do it. There is probably a lot more conversation than might actually occur.)

A week later, a week full of passion, of tongues and mouths, and hands, that had surprised and pleased Bucky even as he asked what had gotten into Steve, Steve who would drag Bucky to the bedroom, press him down him onto the bed and suck him until Bucky was biting his knuckles and practically sobbing, reduced to just moaning ‘Steve,’ and ‘please, please,’ Steve finally had a whole  afternoon free with Bucky out of the apartment. 

First, he took as long a shower in as he dared in the communal bathroom, before the water became icy, about four minutes usually, focusing his efforts primarily on one part of his body.  Then, back in the apartment, he hauled out the large tin bucket in which he had been bathed as a child, and which was still used to soak Bucky’s aching feet in Epsom salts.  He heated water in all of the pans they had and poured them into the make-shift tub, mixing in cold until he had a comfortable temperature.  He wedged himself in, still able to just fit with his knees drawn up to his chin.  He slid his hands between his legs, his limp penis lightly floating in the water, and found his opening, as tight and resistant as he expected.  Following the advice he’d learned in Mr. Vinzetti’s books he took a deep breath, and as he let it out, rubbed himself until the tip of his finger slipped in.  At first it was just strange, a peculiar and unpleasant reversed sensation as his body rebelled against the alien intrusion, but with slow persistence he felt himself loosen and managed to insert two fingers further in until, with an awkward twist of the wrist, he brushed against something that made a jolt of heat shoot through him like an electric shot.  His cock jerked awake against his belly and his balls tightened.  A few more twists and he was fully hard, and desperate for more.  He wasn’t sure what he wanted more of, only of the burning need.

He extracted himself from the tub and palmed his now throbbing cock.  He felt sure that a few strokes would take him over, but he didn’t want that just yet.  He dried off with a rough towel, barely able to stand the friction against his heated body and went into the bedroom where he had left their medicinal jar of petroleum jelly.  He lay on the bed, legs bent and drawn up to his chest, and got a healthy dollop of the slick cream onto his fingers.  His body welcomed the intrusion this time, and in minutes he was panting, desperate to touch his cock, but holding off, thrusting three fingers in and out rhythmically, brushing that spot once every three thrusts or so.  To touch it more than that was overwhelming.  He was so gone in his own pleasure that he didn’t hear the front door open, barely heard as Bucky called out, “Steve!  You’ll never believe—I stopped by McCaster’s fruit stand and he let me have a whole bag of bruised apples.  They’re pretty beat up, but I think we could mush up enough of the good parts for apple sau--.”

There was a thump as the bag of apples hit the floor, bruising the apples even more, and sending them rolling around the room.  Bucky stood in the doorway, mouth open, eyes wide.

“Buck!  Oh, God, Bucky,” Steve whimpered.  “I need you.  Need you inside me right now.”

Bucky stuttered and a flush rose up his cheeks.  “Stevie?  What’re you doin’, baby?  You’re not hurting yourself?  Are you?”

“N-no…oh, God.  Why aren’t you taking off your clothes?”

Bucky pulled his suspenders down and started undoing his pants, and through half-lidded eyes Steve could see the outline of Bucky’s hardening cock. 

“Yessss, oh, yes, hurry.  Feels so good, you got no idea.  Get over here.”

Bucky kicked off his shoes, unbuttoned his shirt just enough to pull it off over his head with his singlet, and came over, but only sat on the edge of the bed.

“Bucky,” Steve whispered, pleading, he pulled his own fingers free and opened his legs, surprised to find that he had clenched them together around his own arm. 

Bucky ran a soothing hand along the outside of Steve’s thigh.  “Baby, baby, I gotta ask, what’s gotten’ into you?”

“It should be you.  Shoulda been five minutes ago.  Oh, Jesus,” Steve groaned, clamping his legs again around the empty ache inside him and then spreading them in desperate invitation.

Steve panted, eyes wild.  He reached out and grabbed Bucky’s hand to pull it between his legs, as if Bucky could feel the burning need radiating out of him.  “I, I heard things, and I wanted to know if it—oh, God—felt good, and it does, Bucky.  So good I can’t even describe—stop talking and fuck me.”

“Uh,” Bucky managed.  “Ok, yeah, Jesus, just let me—“

Steve shoved the Vaseline into Bucky’s hand.  In a daze, Bucky took it, and smeared some over himself.  He got up on his knees, knelt between Steve’s legs and gripped himself.  “Uh, Stevie, I’m bigger than your fingers, and I don’t wanna hurt—“

“I KNOW!” Steve wailed.  “It won’t.  Just DO IT ALREADY.”  He was already feeling a great connection to Mr. Vinzetti’s demanding Francesco.

Bucky, used to women, shoved into Steve with one hard thrust.  Steve’s eyes rolled back in his head.  It did burn, and the greater stretch was startling, but Steve was grateful to the slight irritation for taking a little of the edge off.  If it hadn’t he was pretty sure he would have gone off as soon as Bucky’s balls slammed into his ass. 

Instead it was Bucky who went completely still.  Eyes squeezed shut he moaned, “Oh, my God, Stevie.  It’s so tight.  I can’t.  It’s too much.”

“Shhhh, baby, I know.  Just kiss me.”

The pleasure was returning around the burn, and Steve really wanted Bucky to start fucking him the way he knew Bucky did with girls, but he also wanted Bucky to look at him, to understand what they were sharing.  Bucky had to know how much Steve wanted him, wanted to give him, have this together and no one else.

Bucky opened his eyes slowly and with the sweetest smile Steve had ever seen on his face, leaned in to kiss Steve, tongue sliding past Steve’s open lips.  He lowered his body onto Steve and Steve thought he might die from the tender care.  He felt so completely enclosed by Bucky, even though it was his body that held Bucky’s.  When Bucky hugged him, cradled Steve to his chest with a look of awe, Steve could only whimper and wrap his arms and legs around Bucky’s strong back and start to rock himself down onto Bucky’s cock.

“Oh, baby, my baby doll,” Bucky was babbling as he pressed his nose into the side of Steve’s throat, “So good to me, look at you, so beautiful, spread out, taking me.”  They started to find a gentle rhythm.  Bucky was moving achingly slow.  Peppering Steve’s face with kisses.  “Why you so good to me?  God, Steve, you feel perfect.  Never knew…God…”

Steve, on fire, whispered back, “You can move faster.  I can take it.  Feels so good, so good Bucky.  Shoulda been doing this all along.  Move, I’m so hot and bothered, I can barely stand it.  You gotta move, baby, you gotta.”

“Oh, Stevie, not gonna last if I go faster.”

“’S okay.  Come for me, Bucky, let go.  Let me feel you.  Touch me and I’m gonna come.  Come with me.”

At last Bucky picked up the pace to fuck Steve the way he wanted, his beautiful features contorting with pleasure.  He reached down and rubbed his fingers over the swollen head of Steve’s cock. 

“Yeah,” Steve moaned, “just like that, so close, so close.”  Steve bit his palm to keep from screaming as Bucky thrust into him.  His peak hit him like a blow to the chest.  He sobbed as his come spilled over Bucky’s strong, steady hand.  He shook so hard, Bucky had to clutch him just to keep them locked together.

“STEVIE,” Bucky cried, his thrusts becoming hard and erratic, and Steve felt himself stretched that little bit more, as Bucky’s hot, wetness poured into him.

Bucky slumped against him, arms shaking too much to hold himself up, as he whimpered through aftershocks.  Each tremor sending a matching shock through Steve’s oversensitive and heated body. 

At last they were both still.  “Stevie, my Stevie, my sweetest doll,” Bucky whispered into Steve’s shoulder.

“I know, Buck, I know,” Steve whispered in return, running soothing hands along Bucky’s back.

Bucky softened and slipped from Steve’s body causing them both to gasp at the loss of connection.  Steve felt opened and hollowed out, but deliciously so.  He found himself wondering how long it would be before they could do it again.

Bucky slid off of Steve and rolled to the side.  There were tears in his eyes.  He reached out and caressed Steve’s jaw tenderly.  “My God, Steve.  That was…like nothin’ I ever felt before.  I love you so much.  Never loved anything or anyone the way I love you.”  He leaned in for a delicate kiss that Steve thought might cause his heart to break into pieces.  He felt himself tear up as well.

But Bucky pulled back when he felt the wetness on Steve’s cheeks.  “Oh, God, Steve.  Did I hurt you?  I hurt you, didn’t I?  Oh, God, whyd’ya let me—“

Steve grabbed Bucky’s hands in his.  “Bucky, shhh, calm down.  I love you.  I love you.  Didn’t hurt at all.  So perfect.”  It was only a tiny lie that it didn’t hurt.  He felt tender, but nothing he couldn’t handle and it was rapidly fading.  He shifted to face Bucky too, and realized that Bucky’s come was oozing out of him, unpleasant, but perfect too in its way.  He was Bucky’s and Bucky was his, and nothing else mattered in the world.

They curled together, Steve tucked up against Bucky’s warm, strong chest.  After a little while of quiet breathing Bucky, who always talked too much, asked, his voice hesitant and concerned, “Why’d you think of that, this…it wasn’t just to make me happy, was it, ‘cause of, you know, like you thought I needed a dame to be happy?”

Steve sighed and snuggled closer, laughing a little at how close it was to what Mr. Vinzetti had said.  “No, baby.  I know I’m not a girl.  I know you don’t need a dame, ‘cause we’re happy together, ain’t we.  Just thought, wondered, if it would be even better, if we could be even closer, ‘cause I know that other guys…do this and it must be good.  And it was good.”

Bucky held him close.  “Can’t believe anybody in the whole world got it as good as this, ‘cause if they did they’d be singing in the streets, unable to keep the smile offa their faces.  Was happy like it was, so happy now like this.  Always happy with you, Steve.”

Steve laughed.  He felt so relaxed and so safe in Bucky’s arms that he was drifting to sleep.  “Yeah, always happy with you.  Wish we could sing in the streets.”

“’Til the end of the line, huh, baby.”

“’Til the end of the line, Buck.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapter of unrepentant porn with feeling and too much dialogue.

               Steve sat on their lumpy, broken down sofa trying to read. The light from the single bulb made it difficult with Steve’s weak eyes. If he wanted to read he should have moved into the bedroom to read with the lamp, but he was afraid he would fall asleep and he wanted to wait up for Bucky. Bucky had gone out drinking with his friends from the dock. They were trying to maintain the illusion that Bucky was the same normal heterosexual male he’d always been, and if that meant dating a few girls, or going out with the “boys” to swap stories, then so be it. But Bucky always knew that Steve would be waiting for him.

                He heard Bucky’s heavy, stumbling tread coming down the hall.  A little worse for wear then.

                The key in the lock and then Bucky was there in all his disheveled six-foot glory. Steve kept his eyes resolutely on his book, although reading Faulkner was difficult at the best of time, and impossible when distracted and tired.

                Bucky flopped onto the couch and snuggled his head into Steve’s side. “Baby, Baby, missed you. Can I have you?”

                “You always have me, Bucky.”

                “Nuh, you know what I mean, baby. Guys were talking tonight, ‘bout their girls, girls they been with. Wanted to tell ‘em ‘bout the sweetheart I got waitin’ for me.”

                Steve hid his smile. “This somebody I should know about, Buck?”

                Bucky went on as Steve hadn’t said anything, “My baby, prettiest little thing.”

                Steve bristled at what in other circumstances would have made him spitting mad, but as drunken pillow talk, he was willing to overlook it.

                “Prettiest thing on two legs in all of Brooklyn. Corn silk hair, blue eyes like a perfect summer’s day, and lashes that just go on forever. Oh, and my baby’s lips, God, plush little pillows, just made for cradlin’ my—“

                “BUCK! Did you talk about girls like this?”

                “Nah, baby, not really. Never had anybody so good to me as you.” He paused, “Mighta said a guy could smother in Nancy McKenna’s knockers one time, but anybody who sees her coulda guessed that.

                “Where was I, oh, yeah, my baby’s lips. My baby’s a firecracker in that little body, sass ya’ soon as look at ya’.” He paused. “No tits to speak of.”

                “Gee, Bucky, why you with this dame, she sounds a peach?” Steve pointedly turned the page even though he had no idea where he was in the book.

                “Oh, ‘cause that’s the best part. ‘Cause when my baby is sweet, sweet to me, it’s like the best thing on earth, know I’m the only one my baby lets in.”

                Steve blushed.

                “Don’t know where I’d go after that. Should I tell ‘em that my baby’s got the tightest snatch I ever been in? Or that my sweetheart lets me in the backdoor?”

                “Bucky…”

                "Or should I tell ‘em about my baby’s sweet dick? How it’s bigger than you might think? How it fits so perfect in my mouth? Tastes so good.

               "Can I have you, Baby? So hot for you. Thinkin’ ‘bout you all night.”

               "Yeah. You can have me, Bucky. But first clean up, you smell like an ashtray that’s swimming in beer.”

               Bucky chuckled. “’Kay, Baby. Be right back.”

               Bucky went to the sink and stripped to the waist, splashed water on his face and into his armpits, but when he undid his pants and started to wipe down his groin, Steve spoke up.

               "Don’t!  Don’t clean down there too much.”

               Bucky turned his head, “Babe, I’m all sweaty from work and then…you like it?”

               Steve looked down and whispered in a very small voice, “Yeah.”

               Bucky grinned and turned to face Steve fully.  “Well, damn, Baby.  Shoulda told me you liked me smelling manly.  Don’t think I’ve ever had a dame say she liked my smell, they like ‘em all flowery with aftershave.”  He flexed his abs a bit for emphasis.  Steve blushed.

               Bucky laughed and said, “Well, shouldn’t you be gettin’ naked on the bed?”

               Steve scrambled off of the couch and rushed to the bedroom leaving Bucky laughing behind him.

               When Bucky came in Steve had stripped, turned on the lamp, and curled up on the bed nearest to and facing the wall.

               They had quickly learned, to Steve’s frustration that no matter how willing his spirit, his flesh wasn’t always up to the task.  Sometimes he just couldn’t.  Riding Bucky, which he loved, wore him out and could bring on asthma.  Bucky on top sometimes put too much pressure on his weak body.

               “Damn it, Bucky.  Don’t just sit there grinnin’, s’not funny. I hate this stupid body.  You’re a grown man, you got needs.”

               “Baby, I don’t—“

               “I’M a grown man, I got needs.”

               So they had learned that the easiest position was with Steve on his side, Bucky pressed up against his back holding Steve’s leg up and sliding in gently.  Except for the fact he couldn’t see Steve’s face, Bucky enjoyed it.  For one thing, although he wouldn’t admit it, sometimes he was tired from the docks as well, and not having to hold himself up was a relief.  The romantic in him liked cradling Steve without insulting his pride, and the shallowness of the position meant they could both last longer leading to some frankly breathtaking orgasms. After he could t wipe down Steve’s belly with a towel and then slip it between them to clean himself and gently blot at his own seamen leaking from Steve’s asshole.  Steve still found the feeling a bit disturbing, although Bucky found it sexy as all get out, to see his release dripping from Steve’s tender ass.  They could fall asleep without moving an inch if they didn’t want to.

              He stepped out of his trousers and boxers and laid them over a chair.  He picked up the Vaseline, turned out the light and lay down on the bed behind Steve.

             Bucky babbled when he was hot, and he started in immediately, kissing Steve’s neck and where he was sensitive at the top of his neck, whispering his devotion, how beautiful Steve was, how much he wanted him.  Steve shivered into the touches, but being Steve, was quickly pushing for more.

             “Come on, Buck, don’t keep me waitin’.  Thought you said you were thinkin’ about it all night.  Just put it in already.”

             “The mouth on you.  There’s the sass I love.  Just hold your horses.” He slicked his fingers and worked Steve into a whimpering wreck before he finally let himself slide home.”

             “Finally,” Steve sighed in pleasure, wriggling his hips to take in more of Bucky’s thick cock.  He couldn’t believe how much he’d grown to love this.  The smell of petroleum in the street could have him at half-mast in seconds, but there was nothing better than the feeling of being completely owned by Bucky, even if he couldn’t help running his mouth any more than Bucky could.  Less pillow talk and more demands.

             “Harder, I’m good, feelin’ so good tonight.  ‘S’why I stayed up.  Fuck me like you mean it, Buck, come on.”

             “I always mean it, Baby.  Just hold your horses, I’ll get you there.”  Bucky settled into a slow but firm rhythm pushing Steve forward and then pulling him back onto Bucky’s dick.

             “God, Baby, what you do to me.  Got no idea, do you?  Think I’m going to split my pants sometimes you get me goin’ so fast.  Wanna take my time.  Can you blame me?  You feel so good, so good.  Wanna stay in you forever, stay just like this forever, ‘til the angels come to get us.  And they better not try and pry us apart.  Love you, Baby.  You like that?  Just like that, got the spot?”

             “Oh, God, Bucky, don’t stop, keep doin’ that.  You’re gonna make me, God, wantin’ you all day.  You come marchin’ in smelling like sex and looking like Adonis, just like them paintings.”  He hadn’t told Bucky about Mr. Vinzetti yet, and he wasn’t sure he ever would.  Let Bucky think Steve had seen the paintings in the museum.

             “You think I look like sculpture, Baby?  Like that story where the statue came to life.  Oh, Baby, I’m gettin’ close.  You want me to touch you?  Yeah?”

             “Yeah, yeah, oh, God, Bucky.  I’m gonna go off, gonna, gonna!”  And Steve was gone, clenching and shaking apart.  He turned his face into the pillow and moaned loudly. 

             Bucky bit the hollow of Steve’s shoulder and spilled with a quiet gasp.  He always made less noise than Steve when he came.

             Fully relaxed, Steve was drifting off to sleep even before Bucky had finished cleaning them up.  Bucky reached down and pull the blanket up over them and listened to Steve’s breathing settle out.  Steve rolled onto his stomach clutching the pillow, sound asleep.

             Bucky watched Steve sleeping, the light seeping through the thin blinds painting Steve in stark black and white.

             “Stevie?”

             There was no response. 

             It was only in these moments that Bucky felt he could say everything that was on his mind.  “Love you so much, Steve.  I didn’t know it was possible to love like this.  Sometimes it scares me how much I love you.  Like it’s gonna burst out o’ me sometime and get us both arrested.  Like I must look like the wolf in the Looney Toons with my eyes buggin’ and my tongue hangin’ out.  My heart thumpin’ out o’ my chest.  Like it’s gonna burn me up.  You’d clock me one if you heard me say this, but I worry about you somethin’ awful.  Like God’ll take you from me ‘cause he’s jealous o’ what we got.  I’d die for you, you know?  Just lay down and die if it’d save you.  Give you my lungs and my healthy heart.  I’d follow you into hell and be happy doin’ it.  And I’d stay there if it meant you got to go to heaven.  Love you, Baby.”  He settled himself more comfortably on the thin mattress, slung his arm over Steve’s hips and let himself drift off to sleep.

             Next to him Steve tried to keep his breathing steady to not give himself away.  He wasn’t sure how much he’d missed of Bucky’s confession, but he’d heard enough to break his heart.  There was no way he would outlast Bucky.  No way he could promise not to leave, any more than his own mother had been able to promise him.  But he swore to himself if there was any way at all, if there really was a God in heaven, that he would keep Bucky safe forever.

**Author's Note:**

> My rule for titles is that they be songs that Steve and Bucky might have heard (published before the time of the story), and that it includes a lyrical rhyme. 
> 
> I'd long been thinking about how homosexuals, especially in the time when it was illegal, might learn about penetrative sex besides simply observing back-alley assignations which aren't known for tenderness or love. 
> 
> Additional note: to my knowledge, Carravaggio has never been cited as an influence on Rembrandt, but I've always thought it for all of Carravaggio's baroque flourishes. To me, amateur that I am, their use of light and appreciation of the body is similar. Carravaggio's possible homo-eroticism however, has long been studied.
> 
> I debated trying to reproduce Mr. Vinzetti's accent but decided I wasn't qualified, plus it often can become a caricature and distracting. I did remove all contractions from his speech. It was also not my intention to ever make him a stereotypical "flamer" of the period, and hope that I avoided that trap.


End file.
